Dysphoria
by That Fable
Summary: Van had been set up, shot, kidnapped by fiends, and left for dead by his old squad captain. With the experience of a First-Recon scout sniper, Van is a man on more than a mission of blood lust, he's out on a mission to expel corruption from the NCR and the rest of the Mojave.
1. Chapter 1

Dysphoria.

Dysphoria: A state of unease or generalized dissatisfaction with life.

Prologue

Van wasn't your typical kid. Like a lot of others, he grew up in the NCR territory known as the 'Bone Yard' a city based around a vault in California.

When he was old enough, he enlisted in the NCR just as they began their tour of Nevada. Van was 17 the first time he picked up a service rifle in boot camp, and he knew that the gun was something more to him than just an instrument of death.

At the time, Van was 5'11 with brown hair that he let grow out, it swept in front of his eyes and he found it quite annoying at times to keep brushing it our of the way, but he did so anyway. He had eyes that matched his hair, and they seemed to gleam and sparkle in the sunlight of the Mojave. He was rather slim and nibble at that. Sitting still just wouldn't do for him, he was constantly moving about, like an old world commuter. Everything about life fascinated Van, from the great war to the way Gammorah was ran. He had a thing for knowledge, wanted to know so many things about everything. This infatuation led him in to the worst situation he had ever been in, and it's the sole reason he is who he is.

Chapter One: Betrayal.

Two years had passed since Van had joined the NCR's First-Recon regiment. Van was one of the tops when it came to distance shooting, and everyone was well aware of the fact that he was no schmuck when it came to violence. He sort of had this John Wayne type idea in his head, that he could clean up the wastes with a gun, and that's what he aimed to do.

Van's captain, Cpt. Chu, had received word that a well respected senator, by the name of Dr. James; he was from Colorado, in the NCR had been leaking information to Caesar's Legion for some time now and was ordered to assassinate him, it was off the record and no credit would be taken or given.

For those who are unaware, Caesar's Legion is full of slavers and thugs who's only wants is to enslave every member of the Mojave that will now bow to Caesar's will, he is a ruthless tyrant and will stop at nothing to get what he wants from this desolate desert.

Chu had wanted Van to take the assignment himself, Van had bad blood with this particular senator, he often pressed charges against young recruits in the NCR for insubordination, or small time business owners for fraud. Van accepted the job under the table, but officially refused to take it.

"20,000 in caps. Just for one bullet Van, I know you can do this, son, we've trained you for this particular job." Cpt. Chu told Van as they met in his bleak office. Chu was nothing special by any means of the word, he was 6 feet tall, broad chested, bald, and had a plastic face that one might think was peeled right off of a mannequin's head. The only thing that stood out on his face was his eyes, they were bright blue, like they were contacts maybe, but for sure they could make you pay attention to him.

"I know. I'll do it, but I need to handle some things first, when is the hit taking place?" Van said as he leaned back against his captain's door, his round billed sniper hat turned backwards.

"It's in two weeks, I'll personally brief you the night before, dismissed."

With that, Van was back in the terminal of the McCarren airport. It was the headquarters and main hub of all NCR action in New Vegas.

As Van walked down the steps of the escalator, one of his squad-mates, everyone called him snacob, ran over to him, and he looked as if a group of Legion assassin's were hot on his tail, "Hey, Van! Ten minutes, holding cells, don't be late!" Snacob then rushed off towards the front doors, in a hurry like usual, but definitely paranoid. He looked like how any teenager from California was stereotypically expected to; wavy blonde hair, blue eyes, chiseled features, the works!

Van raised an eyebrow as Snacob left the building but did not stop walking to his destination. He needed to drop off the papers concerning the target that Cpt. Chu gave to him. He bunked with two other guys, they were not First-Recon more along the lines of special infantry, and he knew that they don't mess with his things and he appreciated that.

His bunk was a little messy, that's how he liked it. Underneath it, was his duffle bag and some things he bought from the on-base commissary. He looked around the room to make sure no one was around, and he slipped the manila colored folder inside of his duffle bag. As Van looked up, he saw one of his roommates enter the room, he was tall, around 6'2 about 4 inches taller than he, had brown hair that was close cropped like a military buzz cut that hadn't been trimmed in a couple of weeks, green eyes, and mischievous looking features. He wasn't someone that Van trusted too much. He leaned against Van's bunk and crossed his arms, "They're going to kill you, Van. Watch out for them."

Van looked up from his duffle bag, still crouched on the floor, "I doubt that, I'm the best sniper in the regiment. There is no way that they would want me dead."

"It's called tying up loose ends, it's not about personality or skill of the sort, it's knowledge, and now you know too much. I'm just watching out for you is all. I wouldn't share this with you if I didn't care, I heard your captain talk with one of the mercenaries about your task. Be careful."

"Chu just wants it to get done. There are a lot of caps on the table for me with this job." even though Van said that, he didn't believe it. He knew how odd it was to get paid for this sort of mission, without a spotter. Regardless, he wasn't going to miss his mark. He needed to take his shot.

"If you find yourself in a spot of trouble, go here," Van's roommate handed him a plastic card that had writing in a form of permanent black ink, it read: Hidden Valley Bunker #108 Password: Backward Remarks "When they come out, put your hands up, and tell them that Paladin White sent you." With that said, he walked out of the room, and all was silent.

Van turned the card in his hand, and shoved the card in his cargo pants. He had a feeling that Snacob was waiting for him, so he left his room and started towards the escalator. On his way up, he had the sinking feeling that someone was watching him, but he shook that thought, he had to keep his mind straight.

As Van entered the holding cell area, he noticed how empty it was, not physically speaking empty, but it just felt so vacant and hollow. On the bench inside of the main cell, was Snacob himself, and sitting raise him was a civilian looking male with long black hair that was swept back in a ponytail. Van pointed to the male and opened his mouth to speak, but Snacob raised his hand in protest and then beaconed him to cone forward.

"He's my connection in the embassy. Don't ask his name, he won't tell you." Snacob said in a low hushed tone.

Van sat on the floor and leaned himself against the bars closest to the door, "Tell me what I'm doing here, Jacob."

"You are not here, you are in the commissary right now. Understand?"

Van nodded and closed his eyes, resting against the cold of the metal bars.

"Good. I have a receipt for you, from the Gun Runners. A new rifle barrel was ordered in your name, I'm guessing that you hadn't done this?"

Van shook his head And opened one eye, "But who ever did, I thank them, I'm guessing you summoned me because of the job I was asked to take up?"

A deep yet soft voice spoke up from Snacob's bench, the informant spoke, "You're welcome. I heard that a First-Recon sniper was to take the shot, and figured that some new gear was in order. But be warned that you are not suppose to return alive. Even if you do, you will be Court-Marshaled for going AWOL and assassinating a political figure."

These words startled Van, how has everyone been informed about this job already? He just took it up, "What should I do then?" he asked with a twinge of hatred in his voice.

"Take the shot. You have no other choice."

-Two Weeks later, location: Grand Junction-

Getting up to the summit of the cliff was difficult enough without being spotted by Legionaries and DeathClaws. The climb was worth it though.

Van had been scouting this spot for the past week and a half. He unpacked his rifle from his case that he had planted up there the past night, and began to set it up. He practiced using the new barrel over the previous week. He had gotten so used to compensating for the rust spots on his old barrel that using something so new and accurately made, it was difficult adjusting. None-the-less, he found it comforting.

Once the scope was set, Van twisted his brown hat, round bill and all, to face the back of his head. He sat on one knee, and rested the barrel of his gun on the other, he stared towards his objected mark; it was a run down building that wouldn't typically be of notice. It's walls were crumbling and roof was half caved in, that was the spot that Dr. James was supposed to be in about ten minutes "Early is on time, but on time is late." Van told himself as he laid on his stomach to set up his shot.

He did a pre-reading of the distance, and had his scope set up to compensate for it. The wind was a higher speed than what he previously thought it would be. Having to make up for that speed would be difficult, but doable. He took his time, got a read for his surroundings, and planned a bug-out route if things went south.

Dr. James stepped out from the building, briefcase in hand, and took a look around, "Right on time." Van said aloud just like he was greeting an old friend. The target was 500 yards away, that's twice the distance that any NCR First-Recon boy had on record. Obviously there had been longer, but none had wanted to go that far to confirm it.

Van pulled back from the scope and pulled about 3 or so .308 rounds from his pocket and lined them up next to the gun. He picked one up and turned it in his hand, thinking of what the others had said the day he was assigned this job, was he really supposed to die out here? He couldn't find that conceivable.

He pushed those thoughts aside and his left eye went back in to the scope, his right hand did a once over of the round again and slid it in to the chamber it made a CHINK as it found it's place. He pushed bolt the forward with his thumb and locked it in place as he tugged down upon it with the entirety of his hand.

In a moment of doubt, Van closed his eyes and felt something was watching him, the same way he had been feeling for the past two weeks. He couldn't shake this feeling anymore. He figured he had a couple of minutes until James was in place, so he sat back and sighed his hair sweeping back as he did, "Whoever the fuck is out there, you might as well reveal yourself, I won't fight."

"Well now, Van. Your perception is far better than I anticipated." Cpt. Chu said from a point just below the summit, he seemed to come out of nowhere, like a spirit or something like that.

Without turning to face him, Van rubbed dirt on his hands as he laid back down for his shot, "Why me, Chu? Why was I chosen?"

"Well, you knowing would defeat the purpose of me personally killing you. Is he in place yet?"

"You know; your impatience is going to get you killed one day. Just you watch. Why is it that you wanted to handle me yourself? And not send another assassin? Or a mercenary? We have plenty of those around the base."

"You see Van, everyone that deals in these matters become loose ends, I figured that I might make it easier to just handle this on my own."

Van closed his eyes once more as he peered through the last scope he figured he would see, "Better to die doing something I love, than to die at the hands of some Legionary," Van mumbled to himself. he could feel the captain unholster his pistol and ready it to take the shot.

In his scope, Van saw Dr. James hit the distance marker, and he led his scope a little bit, figured he would walk in to the bullet, and exhaled softly as he pulled on the trigger. A comforting feeling came to his arms as the gun jumped back in refusal to stand still. Within five seconds, he saw James' body crumble like a soda can before him and knew that he was a gonner.

He stood up, he was going to die on his own terms, and turned around slowly to find Cpt. Chu brandishing the barrel of the gun at Van's head. "Thank you for your service, Van. The New California Republic thanks you."

"Don't thank me, not yet anyways."

Van closed his eyes and shut the world out, he could not feel, nor hear anything anymore. He felt something hit his chest like a hard unexpected punch, and fell backwards, off of the cliffside. Tumbling, Van saw his life flash before himself; crying to his mother as a child about some of the bigger kids picking on him, his dad's squad mate giving Van the dog tags of his deceased father, him signing his name on the recruiting list at the NCR center.

Everything went black, he was weightless in thin air. He didn't lead a life that anyone would hear about, he was too discreet for anyone to take knowledge of him. Van realized at that point, that he was dealing with Dysphoria.

Author's Note! Hello there, my name is Fable and I do hope you enjoyed this first chapter of a story that I am working on. Not sure how often I will be putting this out, it really depends on if I feel like writing certain days. Any inquires you have about the story or anything else really, don't be afraid to contact me through my Twitter ( That_Fable) or just leave a review, complaining about how shit I am! :)

Have a splendid day, Fable. 


	2. Lazarus

Lazarus

"I am dead. Never to be heard from again." Van said as loud as his voice would let him in his own mind, but it still seemed quiet, like a librarian hushed the noise. Everything was still, until Van felt his body move. Not by himself, but he was being picked up. Two pairs of arms were holding his limbs. Both of them were shaky and uneasing, almost like they might be withdrawing from Pshyco.

His mind gained full consciousness, but he kept his eyes closed. His chest and back ached furiously, and he knew he was in no position to be dealing with his captors just yet. He let his body be carried across empty stretches, his abductors seemed to be talking about something, but Van only heard gibberish.

An unexpected drop took place once more, and his body went limp against the hot Mojave rock. He felt his limps hit the ground hard. It took all his will to not cry out in pain, almost like he was being boiled in a pot of water, his limbs were on fire. Or at least, that was how he was feeling.

"Check out this one Cook! We found him in DeathClaw country!" he could hear clearly now, and the voice was male, he was able to tell where he was, and who was talking.

"NCR is good eating, you know?" Said Cook Cook. Can knew who he was, and could tell his voice from the rest, it was so raspy and cringe worthy.

The first fiend who spoke, spoke again, "He's a little banged up. We pulled a bullet out of his chest, almost died on the way over here."

"A bullet in the chest? Why not the head?" Van thought to himself as he acted unconscious.

"Oh! I like the way they taste when they have open wounds, makes it feel so much more... Alive." Cook Cook mumbled the last word as he turned around.

Van took the courageous route and let his eyes flicker open, they took in light and retracted. It took him a little bit to fully open them. He looked around at the structure that he was in, it was a dumpy little building, but he knew he was in fiend territory.

The half crumbled walls were all grey looking. No windows, just rectangles missing from the walls as if there were once windows. In the middle of the room, Van noticed shelves stacked with cooking ingredients, but most importantly, he saw a knife. It looked rusted. Like it might not e able to puncture skin, but the edge was sharp enough to slice objects, maybe even a throat or two.

He sat up slowly on the floor, taking in even more of his surroundings. Van noticed the two fiends that brought him here were off building a fire on the opposite side of the room from Cook Cook, and Cook Cook was tossing ingredients in the pot of water, rambling on about the prep time for Iguana Stew or something of the nature. Van assumed a crouching position and began for the shelf in the middle of the room, he knew he needed to pick up that knife. The only problem was his wounds. He was in a world of pain, and it took all of his courage to not cry out. His bullet wound was on the right side of his chest, it had stopped bleeding, but the bullet was still inside of him, and he could feel it move as he did.

Every step took more effort than the last, and eventually, he found himself leaning against the shelf in the middle of the room for support, his hand slapped around on the middle shelf for the knife, his fingers clutched it squeezed as if his life depended on him not letting go of it, which in all honesty it did.

As he picked up the blade, he felt a sense of adrenaline rush through his body, he turned the knife over in his hand and turned his head towards the two fiends that were now sparking the fire. Thoughts ran in his mind, shouting direction and action all at once! All of the pain in his body subsided as he charged the group of two fiends. Everything went slow as he pulled one's head back by his hair, and slight his throat with the rusted edge of the blade. Warm thick liquid rushed over Van's knife. Without second thought, he lunged at the fiend to his left and tackled him to the floor, all in one swift motion, he drove the point of the knife in to one of his eyes. Time sped up as the knife crunched in to the skull and landed in the mush of his brain. His entire skull cracked under the sheer force of the strike. Van stood and pulled the bloodied knife from the vacant body. He turned towards Cook Cook who was still mixing his water with his welders' gear on. He flipped the knife around in his hand so that the point of the knife was facing the ground and sprinted towards the chef.

The room passed by in one big blur. The next thing that Van knew, he was standing over a corpse that had a rock resting on it's smashed and mangled face. He turned his hands over and examined the blood on them. His fingers were shaking his body was unnerved. "I did what I had to." Van spoke to himself as he started to climb out of a busted window of the building, and in to the Mojave he went.

As he put distance between himself and the grey box, he noticed that he was still wearing his NCR garbs. This would have to go. At least, until he found Chu, and got his answers.

Van came to a small building with a red sign on it, the sign read; "South Vegas Medical" He was in luck! Someone who could finally patch him up, Van was getting weak, he was weezing heavier and heavier with each step that he took. His hand slapped the door handle, and he clutched it and threw it open with enough force to open the door ever so slightly that he could barely slip through the crack in between the doors. The receptionist smiled as she said her greeting, "Hi! Welcome to south Vegas me-" she stopped mid-sentance and a look of shock, pity, and focus flew across her face all at the same time as she rushed past the courier and shouted for the doctor. Van dubouled over in pain and found himself clutching his stomach with a had on the tile.

His vision slipped in and out as the doctor hauled him to a room and laid Van on a medical bed. Lights blinded his vision and the doctor repeadedly snapped his fingers in front of Van, "Don't fall asleep! Stay awake! Fight the pain. You can do this!" the doctor's words went in one ear and out the other.

The nurse came in and set a tray next to the doctor who now had a surgical mask covering his face. Van could feel them rip off his vest and undershirt, that felt a little breezy, and the doctor plunged a pair of tweezers in to Van's chest cavity and began searching for the bullet. Van was completely numb to the feeling and could only feel his chest move around, it was apparent that Van was on the brink of death. The doctor pulled out the tweezers with great success and pulled out a slug the size of a quarter, the doctor held it in front of Van's face and Van was sure he was saying something, but couldn't differentiate the noise from the roaring in his ears.

The doctor held out his open hand, seperated his finger like he was showing the number '5'

Five minutes, that's all it took for Van to realize that he was able to sleep. Van's eyelids fluttered and he did not fight the urge to sleep anymore. He closed his eyes again, and could feel himself sleep in to slumber.

-some time later-

"Oh sir? Sir? ... Doctor Ink, are you sure the sedation wares off today?" said the familiar voice of the female nurse.

"Yes Cheryl. He should be waking up within the hour." a deep voice confirmed the nurse's suspicions, the Doctor Ink was his name, and he saved Van's life.

Van's body ached with pain, and could feel the spot on his chest that had sealed itself up. His eyes opened, without a second to waste, as if he had just been injected with coffee. "Where am I?" he sat up as he took in the white, sterile hospital room.

Dr. Ink stepped forward, and put a hand on Van's bed railing, "Well, you're in the South Vegas Medical Center, son. How're you feeling?"

"Like I could take on the world. I must thank you for saving me like you did. It was you that pulled that bullet from me and patched me up, right?" Van put a hand on his chest, over the bandages that lay in security for his wound.

"Yes, that was I. I must ask you, how is it that you managed to make it here in the time that you did? It seems as if you were at it for at least a day or so. Judging by the state of the flesh in the wound." Ink ran a hand across his dark beard. He had a thick beard, like a experienced man might have. He had hair that was close cropped and matched the color of his facial hair. He was white, but sounded darker, maybe he was raised in a different area of the wastes.

"Well, I was shot, thrown off of a cliff, dragged across the Mojave by some fiends, and fought my way out of imprisonment. Some how, my body knew where I needed to go."

Dr. Ink stroked his beard again, and held on to it, "Like Lazarus, almost."

"What's Lazarus?"

The doctor put his hands in the pockets of his lab coat and closed his eyes, "Lazarus was a man, whom in biblical stories, died, and was resurrected by Jesus."

"Well, I'm not sure about religion, but I do thank you again. I would rather not die yet." Van stuck out his right hand, "My name is Van. Van Worth."

Doctor Ink slid his hand to match Van's and shook it firmly, "Jack Ink. And this young lady is Cheryl Red."

"A pleasure to meet you, young man." Cheryl spoke in a soft tone, not wanting to under anything in play.

"So, how much do I owe you, doc?" Van asked as he scooted back in his bed, resting against the wall his bed was supported by.

Jack shook his head and held up a hand, "It's quite alright. Typically, I don't do this, but you seem like the kind to repay debts. Don't worry about it, Van."

Van nodded his head slowly, "Thank you, I appreciate it greatly. But if I may ask one more thing of you, do you by chance have a shift that I may use? Seeing as how my top was tattered and ripped off of my chest."

The nurse nodded ad hurried away, bringing back a t-shirt that was black, it seemed a little bit worn, but as long as it covered himself from the Mojave sun, he was ok with it.

"Here you are, Van. I hope it fits you well," she presented the shirt to him, and he pulled the hem of the shirt up and over his head, he slipped his arms through the holes designated for them, and the feeling of cloth brought comfort to him.

"Thank you. I can't begin to tell you how fortunate I am to have met you, both. How far am I from the GRA building?"

The doctor took a look at a map on his wall and nodded his head, "A couple of miles. But it's getting late, why don't you stay another night? It would be no bother."

Van nodded and climbed off of the bed, light-headed he grabbed the railing on it for support. Doctor Ink and nurse Red had stepped out of the room and went back to the reception room during the time. As he re-gained balance, Van could tell he had been out of it for more than a week. His skin grew slightly paler than his once gleaming tan coating. He felt slightly weaker, like he hadn't eaten in a long time.

As he made his way out of the room, he noticed the hall way that he was carried from when he collapsed.

He leaned against the doorway of the receptionist's room, his head leaned and rested on the frame itself, finding comfort in the warm wood.

A plan started to form in his mind as his eyes closed gently, he pictured the index card that he was given, his bunk mates, the warnings he was given... But most of all, he pictured Captain Chu, and he knew what was going to happen, Van KNEW that he was going to get to the bottom of this. No matter the cost, no matter the body count, he was going to rise like the phoenix and leave a wake of fire in his path of destruction.

He shook the thought from his mind for now. He had a feeling that he needed a few days to prep before taking on Chu. 


	3. Consolidation

Consolidation

It had been a solid month since Van had been inside of the recovery room of the South Vegas Medical Center. His wound that once pulsed as he breathed was now nothing more than a scar, a memory of betrayal.

The past two weeks Van had been attempting to get around the super-mutant infested area of Black Mountain in order to reach Hidden Valley, the address of the index card that his bunk mate gave to him, it was dirty and bent in place, but the writing was still legible. Bunker number 108.

As Van pushed open the rust covered gate that led in to a series of nuclear defense bunkers, he could spot several things of note, plasma burns on the sand and scribblings on the bunker doors.

The bunker he was searching for appeared just like the others, covered in hippy script and run down, but as brought his hand up to the door that would undoubtedly decide his future, it slid down revealing three large characters donning armor that gleamed like ice on a Nuka-Cola bottle.

They raised long tubes that Van could only recognize as Laser Rifles and charged out.

Van raised his hands and got on his knees, the power armored men surrounded him in a semi-circle, closing off his escape. The one that stood in front of Van spoke first, "Who are you and how did you find this place?"

As Van rose his head to speak, he cleared his throat, "My name is Van Worth, former NCR, my bunk mate told me to come here, he said to tell the men that first approach me that Paladin White sent me."

The men on either side of Van rested their rifles, letting that name soak in.

"So, what you're telling me, is that a dead paladin told you to come and find us?"

This news took Van by surprise, at first that his bunk mate was a spy for the Brotherhood, and then by the fact that he was pronounced dead. "Dead? What do you mean 'dead'? When was this?"

With his polished power armor on, the Paladin who was speaking to Van removed helmet that made the suit look menacing to a mere civilian, and took in a deep breath, shaking his head and letting the sweat move freely from it's captivity inside the casing, "A few weeks ago, we had gotten a message with detailed maps of the New Vegas Strip and the Embassy. Paladin White, Jarvis, also informed us that one of the officers might be on to him, and that his cover was possibly compromised. No word back since, the only logical conclusion is that he was tried and executed. Or is currently in a holding cell."

As Van processed this, the white scar that reminded him of betrayal had given itself warmth, letting new emotions take over his body, an even deeper sense of revenge and hatred for Chu and the rest of his officials.

Van stood from his kneeling position and extended his hand to the hopefully friendly man in the hulking silver suit, "I think we have a common enemy here."

As the man firmly grasped Van'd hand, he gave a slight nod and filled in, "Jerry Spark. Security chief for the Mojave chapter of the Brotherhood of Steel. I think our elder might want to speak with you, outsider."

Greetings everyone! I do apologize for the shortness (and tardiness) of this chapter. But hey, what's life in a blue moon staring down the barrel of big iron? Ain't that a kick in the head, lemme tell yah!

Not too sure how often I'll be putting this out, I can't devote all of my time to writing, sadly. :/ most of the time I have is spent on murdering innocent raiders, and pillaging the lives and camps of the Legion.

I do hope you enjoyed however, and if so, please do me a huge favor and subscribe to the story! Or leave a review correcting things! Either is appreciated!

-Fable


End file.
